


Control

by Unforth



Series: Tumblr Ficlets: Supernatural [26]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Bondage, Dom Castiel, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rope Bondage, Shibari, Spanking, Sub Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 12:59:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11441385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: Ficlet written to the prompt: I'd love to see Castiel having a real shitty day and Dean offering him a chance to gain back control, where Cas orders Dean to maintain position. It doesn't matter what else happens in their scene, but the focus would be Dean's obedience and Cas finding his focus through it.





	Control

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BummedYourFag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BummedYourFag/gifts).



> From time to time I put out calls for prompts, and I fill them! This story is a prompt fill for BummedYourFag, who sent me this request:  
> I'd love to see Castiel having a real shitty day and Dean offering him a chance to gain back control, where Cas orders Dean to maintain position. It doesn't matter what else happens in their scene, but the focus would be Dean's obedience and Cas finding his focus through it (possibly loads of praise and edging?). We see too little of the impact of D/s scenes on the dominant partner, so I'm intrigued. Doesn't have to be Cas' POV either, just the impact of taking the reins.
> 
> (Um, this didn't end up being about Dean's staying in position as much as I originally planned...I hope you like it anyway!)
> 
> Interested in requesting a prompt of your own? I have an AO3 post where I periodically take prompts, so subscribe to me or subscribe to the "[Call for Prompts](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11408007)" post, and next time I ask for prompts, why not [drop me a note](unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com/ask)?

Tense, Castiel kept his hand in his pocket, fingers fiddling with the length of string he kept hidden there.

“…and _another_ thing…”

Zachariah railed on, and Castiel let the angry words wash over him. The fender bender had made Castiel late. Being late had made the clients angry. The clients’ anger had prompted them to walk out on the deal Zachariah had been negotiating for months.

The accident was _completely_ out of Castiel’s control, and Zachariah’s condescending manners were likely a major factor in the clients’ displeasure, but none of that mattered to Zachariah. As far as he was concerned, the collapse of the negotiations was entirely Castiel’s fault.

“Pack your bags,” snarled Zachariah as he reached his triumphant conclusion. “You’re done here.”

“What?” asked Castiel, too shocked to stop the exclamation.

“You’re fired.”

Rage boiled in Castiel’s blood. He’d worked at Sandover for _years_ , netted them dozens of good clients, had a great portfolio, and one mistake and he was _done_?

The thread snapped between his fingers.

“Fine,” snapped Castiel, rounding on a heal and stalking to the door.

“Oh, no, you’re not done here! Come _back_ , Mr. Novak,” Zachariah demanded

“Mr. Adler – if your intention is to castigate me despite your threat I can only assume you’ve decided _not_ to fire me, but spare your breath – I quit.”

Castiel pulled the door open and walked out, a strange feeling of elation washing over him.

It wouldn’t last.

His car was out of commission and he was out of job.

With a sigh, he pulled out his phone.

_Castiel (10:02 AM): Dean, remember when you said earlier that my day could only get better?_

_Castiel (10:03 AM): Well, about that…_

* * *

The euphoria carried Castiel half way through the walk home. Dean’s reply texts had been stock sympathy and, while nice, couldn’t comfort him. By the time he arrived at the door to their apartment, he was tired, his shoulders slumped, and he absently tugged at the knot his tie.

He unlocked the door.

He stepped within the apartment.

He pulled the tie from his neck and let it slip through his fingers to make a puddle on the floor.

His dejected gaze caught on the pile of neatly folded clothing on the table by the door and his jaw dropped. Moving before he could fully process the information, Castiel stumbled down the hallway, kicking off his shoes, throwing aside his trench coat, unbuttoning his jacket. He threw open the door to their second bedroom and…

…and just as he’d scarce dared hope, Dean knelt in the middle of the playroom floor, hands folded over his knees, eyes fixed on the floor, freckled skin smooth and soft in the glow of the recessed lighting.

Castiel’s hands shook.

“Dean…you don’t have to.”

“I want to, sir,” Dean murmured obediently. “Anything you need.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

The shaking in his hands intensified, his nerves and worries running rampant, but Castiel forced his lips to curl into a smile, and he said, “I’ll make you regret that promise, boy.”

* * *

Rope scoured over Castiel’s palm. He wrapped the length over his knuckles, over and over again, letting the coils slip off, wrapping them again, as he circled Dean, stalked around him like a predator. The lengths vibrated slightly, responding to the continued tremor of Castiel’s nerves, but this, _this_ he could do. He couldn’t drive, he couldn’t work, he’d blown everything, but Dean still trusted him, still wanted him, still needed him, and Castiel would oblige his beautiful husband, his beautiful sub, to the best of his ability.

Dean hadn’t moved since the scene started, hadn’t reacted to Castiel’s occasional exploratory prods, hadn’t shifted though his knees must ache from the strain.

 _How about_ …

Slowly, methodically, Castiel began to weave the ropes around Dean’s body. Green, to bring out his eyes. Red, to bring out the beautiful way Dean’s skin flushed when he was bound tightly. Blue, to remind Dean who owned him. Castiel used weighted tugs to thread the ropes through the rings embedded in the ceilings and walls, looped the ropes around Dean’s torso, his shoulders, his ankles, his wrists, his neck. The work was delicate, a mistake at best painful, at worst dangerous to Dean’s health, and Castiel double-checked every binding, triple checked before he hoisted Dean up, before he let the ropes support Dean’s weight. Dean’s muscles strained, his breath coming in pants, but he kept silent, remained pliant, obeying Castiel’s gentle nudges and harsh tugs. Dean’s cock throbbed hard between his legs, soaking the rope wound around it with thin early release, but Dean was a good boy, he was _Castiel’s_ good boy, and he wouldn’t come without permission. Watching Dean’s remarkable self-control helped Castiel restore control of himself. The tingling buzz faded from Castiel’s hands, the anxious knot in his chest eased even as he enveloped Dean in taut, straining knots, and loop by loop, Castiel asserted his control over Dean, asserted his control over himself.

When he had Dean fully suspended, enfolded in ropes, dangling as if floating in the air, he took a step back and surveyed his handy work.

Lengths spiraled around Dean’s body from head to toe, looped around and around him, knots pressing into his skin at his joints, over his heart, his belly, his neck.

A carefully tied rope gag held Dean’s mouth open.

Hemp squeezed Dean’s testicles, encircled the length of his cock, stretched back between his perineum, spread his butt cheeks apart and exposed his pink pucker to the room’s chill air.

A blindfold covered Dean’s eyes.

Nodding thoughtfully, Castiel turned to the chest where their toys were stored, and he retrieved the paddle.

Castiel walked silently across the room until he stood mere feet from Dean. For long minutes, he stood and watched the effect that the stillness and quiet had on Dean. His breath quickened, his pulse fluttered against his neck, his heart pounded, his cock leaked, but he trusted the ropes.

Dean _trusted_ Castiel.

With a long, slow exhale, Castiel let go the last of his stress.

“I’m going to destroy you, Dean,” he vowed serenely.

He lifted the paddle and swung it against Dean’s exposed hole. Dean’s body arched against his restraints, his scream choked off by his gag, and his cock dripped on to the floor below.

It was going to be a long, _long_ day.

* * *

“Thank you,” Castiel breathed.

Dean mumbled something and shimmied closer to Castiel. Dean’s lingering erection pressed on Cas’ legs. There’d been no climax for Dean, not that day, because Castiel had control _needed_ control. He felt guilty for denying Dean that release, but they both knew: this scene hadn’t been about Dean’s release, it had been about Castiel’s – not about Castiel’s _orgasm_ , but about dissipating his stress, easing his tension, allowing him to think about something _other_ than how he’d screwed up his day and potentially ruined their lives.

“Thank you so much,” Castiel repeated.

It felt…silly…overblown…ridiculous…but for Castiel the scene had meant redemption, salvation, forgiveness. By offering himself up, Dean spoke in a language louder than words and told Castiel:

_I’m here for you._

_I’m not leaving._

_I trust you._

_I believe in you._

_I love you._

_We’ll figure this out together_.

Dean had never been good at communicating such things aloud, and Castiel had never been good at admitting he needed them, but in the _smack_ of a paddle against aching flesh, the meaning screamed out to both of them.

It was ridiculous.

But it worked for them.

“I love you, Dean.”

Sated, satisfied, wounds treated, aches massaged away, Dean snuggled up against Castiel, content to be the little spoon, and murmured something that might have been a reciprocation. Smearing kisses over Dean’s shoulder, Castiel reached between their bodies and wrapped a hand around Dean’s cock.

Dean moaned.

Dean moaned more loudly the more firmly Castiel stroked. Castiel wanted for nothing, but Dean tensed and shook against him, breath heavy and hot beneath the blankets, and Castiel glorified in the feel of Dean coming apart in his arms.

“Cas…Cas, may I…?”

“Come for me, Dean.”

With a fractured whimper, Dean spurted into Castiel’s hand and slumped against him.

Rubbing Dean’s come between his fingers, the last of Castiel’s stress melted away.

_I have this power. No one else does._

_Zachariah might think he’s in control, but he knows_ nothing _about real power. He can play games with money, but I hold the reins on Dean’s bliss._

_Only I get to give my sub this._

“Good boy,” Dean breathed. “My sweet Castiel.”

_Only he gives me this power._

“Yes…yours…”

_Always, Dean…as long as you’ll have me._

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr at [unforth-ninawaters](unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com).


End file.
